


Blue Salvation

by SusannahDean



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Gen, joss carter lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-11-03 21:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10975587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusannahDean/pseuds/SusannahDean
Summary: A lot can happen in a year, and as we all know, John and Joss don’t do so well when they’ve been separated. As their relationship develops over the months, an interloper has been watching from the shadows, biding his time and carefully plotting. With HR defeated and John Reese off on his own personal mission of discovery, Detective Joss Carter’s world is turned upside-down in ways she never could’ve anticipated! S3 & S4 AU. No Samaritan. Minimal AI. JOSS CARTER LIVES!





	1.  Prologue

 

 

**April 2013 12:02 AM**

 

Self-preservation. It was the first law of nature, according to many. The sole driving force behind everything we do in life. Every decision we make. We’d do anything in our power to selfishly ensure our own survival. And when it came to our loved ones, those we hold dear, that sense of ‘self’ could be expanded and adapted to encompass a wide range of configurations and numbers; Family, a brotherhood, and in some cases, complete strangers or even an adversary.

 _Well, I guess that’s that_ …Officer Jocelyn Carter thought as she leaned forward against the steering wheel, resting with her head pressed against her folded arms. Seeking to calm her jumbled nerves, Joss took in a slow, steady breath through her nose and released it through pursed lips. With each soothing breath, a new, rational thought occurred to her. She was able to reassemble her thoughts, to redirect them down a path that was slightly more palatable, and Joss tried again. _Now that the wolf had been fed…_

She’d taken off like a bat out of hell from Brooklyn, and surprisingly didn’t get pulled over as her civilian vehicle zigzagged through traffic. Despite having to slam on her breaks several times, the idea of travelling at a lower speed had become unfathomable. She’d pushed down hard on the accelerator, as if that alone would drive away those intrusive notions, allowing her to outrun them before they had a chance coalesce all around her. She could’ve gone to John, but the truth was, she couldn’t risk it. She needed him by her side on the other end of this thing. Carl Elias, on the other hand…well, he was a means to an end and had already proven his ability to reign from within the walls of a maximum security stronghold. This time around, he’d be safe to serve his sentence and conduct his business in relative peace. For everything, the abductions, the murders both carried out and attempted, he did not deserve to die because the law did not mandate it. Permitting him be hauled back when all was said and done was the right thing to do.

She had been grateful for his actions tonight, for the fact that he himself had accompanied his crew to go after the HR cops sent to intercept her ex-husband and son as they headed south towards Philly. But this was the same man who’d tried to kill her more than once and had kidnapped the very child whose life he’d more recently saved. Since HR had betrayed him and allied themselves with the Russians, he’d been itching to take them out. The fact that he wanted her to be willingly wrapped up in his plans certainly gave her pause, but even he had admitted to owing her this favor. For a while now, the offer had loomed there, before her eyes like a big red button you’re told over and over _not_ to push.

Now that the wolf had been fed…There was a chance he’d finally ease up on his recruitment efforts which, as a proud, dedicated member of the force had begun to make her uncomfortable. Aside from saving Elias’ life, which had been the lesser of two evils, she’d lifted nary a finger to help him in any other way. In fact, he seemed rather content to go along with her plan as her CI and unofficial parolee. She could not for the life of her imagine why Elias thought she’d be willing to work with him under any other circumstance, or what her prospective employment with him would even mean. She’d been too afraid to ask.

While Carl’s particular form of self-care was inherently exploitative of those around him, Joss understood it to be no less crucial to his own well-being. What she saw when she spent time with him, was a very bored, very wealthy criminal who had the world at his fingertips. In allowing this partnership to culminate in the spilt blood of crooked cops, she’d played her part in alleviating some of that boredom, in providing a distraction for the time being, and making him feel as though he’d paid her back in full. After everything was said and done, they could return to their natural state as enemies. They’d owe each other nothing, and at any moment now, he’d lose interest when a shiny new toy came along to pique his fancy.

Or so she’d fooled herself into believing.

She opened her eyes when her cell phone began to vibrate in the passenger’s seat next to her crested cap. Its bright screen illuminated the dark interior of the car, and Joss grimaced when the caller ID brazenly displayed a name she did not want to see. Her chest hitched involuntarily, but she was able to stave off a second bout of hysterical crying. Tapping the ‘talk’ key, she brought the phone to her ear, and held her breath for one calculated beat before uttering a deceitfully equable and breathy, “Hello?”

“Joss,” came Elias’ all-too composed voice through the phone’s receiver, sounding as if he hadn’t just personally carried out a massive hit at her request. Unlike her own carefully constructed placidity, she knew very well that his was not a front. “You sound troubled. I’m to understand you had to leave in a hurry? I hope you’re OK.”

“I am, thanks. It’s just…late.”

“Good. Glad to hear it.”

There was a long pause where Carl said nothing, and Joss’ thumb moved to hover optimistically over the ‘end’ key, a sincere-sounding valediction already poised on the tip of her tongue.

“I can tell things are going to ramp up here in the next few days, Joss. Would it be presumptuous of me to ask what your plans are? For after?”

She sat up and away from the steering wheel, “After?”

“There’s always an after.”

“Well…” Joss said, fidgeting with the knobs and buttons on the center console, “Things go back to the way they were.”

“And I’ll remain a wanted criminal,” he surmised, “…always having to hide in the shadows, forced to live my life as an outcast.”

 _Just like John_ , she thought to herself. “What I mean to say,” she said aloud, “Is that we’re both needed within our respective corners of society. That way, a balance between them can be maintained in HR’s absence. Besides, I think it might be a bad idea for you to be seen as a cop sympathizer.” Joss searched the silence between his breaths, hoping for an indication that this conversation would soon be over.

After another long pause, Elias spoke again, “I was surprised. You up and left so quickly, Joss. Tell me…is it because you’re ashamed?”

“No--” she rubbed her temples in frustration. He’d completely disregarded everything she had just said to him. “Of course not.”

“Then it should be nothing at all for us to maintain our association. Together we’ll be the saving grace of this city,” he said confidently.

She huffed as she got out of the car and slammed the door shut. She leaned against the side of her black SUV, casting quick glances up and down the street, “If you say so.” She plopped her cap onto her head and switched from handheld to hands-free for the walk home. Wandering around alone in uniform in the middle of the night, distracted, no less, was not always the best idea. She could already feel unseen eyes roaming over her standard-issue attire, her prominently displayed badge and shoulder patches, her fully loaded gun belt. She’d gotten back so late that there weren’t any open parking spaces close to her home.

“We share a similar vision. It’s why you spared my life when you very well could’ve left me to die at the hands of our enemies….”

Slipping on her NYPD jacket that was probably two sizes too big, Joss armed the alarm on her car and started home. Making sure she was directly involved had been a protective measure, for sure, but whatever was to happen now, whatever price she had to pay, it was still worth it. She would endure whatever legal consequences she had coming in order to be rid of the Russians and HR, to punish the men responsible for the brutal slayings of fellow police officers whose only wrongdoings were in that they attempted to uphold the law. As she walked, Joss peeked over her shoulder when she thought she heard the echo of footfalls that were not her own. Joss stopped to conduct a 360-degree scan her surroundings, continuing on in her intended direction when she saw nothing. Instead, she found herself unsettled that the streets of lower Manhattan were oddly empty for the city that never sleeps.

“…It’s why we work so well together,” Elias continued, “While our shared history has not been a smooth road, its many twists and turns will eventually bring us both to the same destination. We’ve both felt the sting of betrayal from those closest to us, and it has only made us stronger…”

She picked up her pace, and crossed to the opposite side of the street when she thought she spotted someone crouching in the shadows to her right. Nothing to see here. Just your friendly neighborhood beat cop. A short cut through Tompkins Square Park would shave a few minutes off of her journey, even if it meant she had to dodge rats the size of schnauzers…and still, Elias droned on.

“…Enabling us to suffer woes which hope thinks infinite…to forgive wrongs darker than death or night…to defy power, which seems omnipotent….”

Joss squinted as Carl’s speech cadence took on a familiar rhythm. She suddenly felt as though she were listening to a sermon or some sort of odd-ball hypnotherapy session. As she passed a fixture, Joss stared up and into the shiny, soulless eyes of Domain Awareness. The cameras’ tiny red LEDs felt like laser sights gunning for her, while their invisible, greedy little ears futilely strained to hear every syllable Elias uttered.

“…To love, and bear…to hope till hope creates, from its own wreck the thing it contemplates…neither to change, nor falter, nor repent…”

As she approached the park’s exit, Joss slowed to a stop when she came upon a sleeping homeless man on a bench, shivering in the chilly spring air. She took a moment to fish a five-dollar bill out of her pocket, and tucked it securely beneath the heap he was using as a pillow.

“…This, like thy glory, is to be, good, great and joyous, beautiful and free…this is alone life, joy, empire, and victory.”

Moving much slower now as she neared her block, she allowed the distance between herself and another pedestrian up ahead to increase until she saw him disappear around a corner. Joss scoffed softly, “You called me to quote poetry, Carl?”

“No,” he laughed, “I just wanted to let you know…I wanted to thank you--”

“Thank _me_?”

“Well yes,” Elias said, speaking into the mobile phone he cradled against his head. He sat, perched on the edge of his bed in what Joss had jokingly referred to as his ‘basement palace’, slightly curled forward with his elbows on his thighs, and one stockinged foot tucked cozily beneath the other. “A thousand times yes. In placing your trust in me, you helped me implement a well-balanced strike that was executed with military precision, and resulted in no collateral damage. An action that will send crippling waves throughout the ranks of HR. I could not have pulled it off without your intel, and certainly not without your approval.”

Joss paused before rounding the corner onto her block and pulled her cell phone from her back pocket, preparing to finally end the call. “My approval, huh?” she asked with a soft laugh.

Elias let his eyes slip shut with the sound of her sweet, comforting voice.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” she snapped as she brought her hand up to tap her earwig, hesitating when Elias spoke again.

“Good night, _farfalla_.”

Joss stared at the phone as if the device itself had just spoken a foreign language to her, before disabling the hands-free option and tucking the earpiece into her pocket. She quickly scanned the block to check for any watchful eyes before heading up the steps of her brownstone.

#

Joss stripped off her cap and heavy jacket as soon as she locked her front door, tossing them haphazardly onto the coat rack. Not until she ventured further into her home did the jolt of alarm shoot through her, but the instance of panic passed quickly when she recognized a timeless formulation that always put her at ease, the soft, mingled aromas of vetiver, leather, pipe tobacco...She clicked her tongue against her teeth as she arched her ribcage upwards to reach the compression-style buckle that fastened her gun belt. “Tell me you didn’t use the front door,” she sighed, draping her heavy gear over an end table.

“Any reason I shouldn’t have?” John Reese replied from a shadowy corner of Joss’ living room. She didn’t answer verbally, but stared at him wide-eyed and uneasy. Even though John couldn’t see her face, her hesitant demeanor told him almost everything.

Joss turned to switch on the nearest lamp.

“Where’s Taylor?” John asked, pointing to the photo he’d been straining his eyes to study in the fuzzy orange light that streamed in through the brownstone’s large street-facing windows.

Her pulse spiked as she watched him closely now, taking note of any twitches of his brow or mouth that could indicate to her whether or not he already knew. _In through nose_ …“He’s with Paul this week,” she stated plainly. John tipped his head slightly, perhaps sensing that she was not telling him everything. “He’s safe,” she added quickly.

He nodded and carefully returned the framed photo of Taylor and Joss to its rightful place. He peeked through the blinds to check for evidence of any HR operatives monitoring Joss’ home, but found none. “Nice job with The Swede the other day”, he said, pivoting around smoothly to face her. “Between that and what you did for Lionel, I’d say you’re ready to dive in to your career as a fully-fledged criminal operative,” he said with a sly smirk.

Joss released the breath she’d been holding and tittered nervously, “Yeah. It’s tempting…”

John’s cell phone beeped once, and he pulled it from his pocket to glance at it long enough to see that the sender was listed as ‘unknown’. “With me and Finch?” he urged as he tucked the device away.

Joss’ face fell, “John…”

“With whatever it is you’ve got up your sleeve, Joss…It would just be safer.”

“You know I can’t. So stop asking.”

His cell phone beeped again, but he decided not to check it this time, opting instead to meet her stubbornness with a defiant half-grin.

“Please?” she begged.

John fluttered thick, dark lashes downward and shifted on his feet as he thought about her request, of how impossible it would be for him to abide by it, no matter how much she wanted him to. John looked off to the side, searching for and finding what he hoped was a witty yet evasively apt response, “What do you think happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, Carter?” he pondered aloud as he stepped close to her.

The question conjured images of her old college philosophy professor, causing Joss to smile. “Oh, wait, I remember this…” she replied, moving to close the distance between them. “Turns out, they’re one in the same, John.” She sensed the tension he held in his body as he struggled with being as close to her as possible while not allowing their bodies to come into contact. John shied his gaze away from her, and his sigh was almost imperceptible when she tenderly pressed a hand against his taught belly, right over the spot where CIA Agent Evans had shot him nearly two years prior, “So, whatever it is I’ve got up my sleeve,” she said, keeping her voice soft, yet stern, “You’re going to let me handle it my way.”

With what felt like a herculean effort, John raised his eyes to meet hers, and reached for her. She steadied his trembling hand as he placed it against her cheek. “Ok,” he murmured, “But if you get in over your head…”

Joss nuzzled her face into his palm, taking a moment to indulge in his touch before pulling his hand away, “With the way you guys keep tabs on me…how much trouble can I get in?”

Confidence successfully restored, John mirrored her buoyant smile.

She knew that this dance, this holding pattern she’d initiated between the two of them had pained him deeply, but HR would stop at nothing to end him. If everything went according to her plan, and she was sure it would, it wouldn’t be long before they could finally address _that_ metaphorical pachyderm. Until then, he’d survive. They both would, and she would tell him what he truly meant to her, but not until this whole ordeal was over and done.

John kept their fingers entwined for as long as they could reach as he slowly moved away. As reluctant as he was to leave her, he was sure whatever Finch was texting him about had to be urgent. He stopped to cast a wistful glance towards Carter as he headed towards the rear exit of the brownstone, “Watch your back, Joss.”

 

Joss pulled her hair free of the elastic band that held her bun in place, and put a kettle on for tea. She was pretty certain she wouldn’t be sleeping, not until she’d heard from Paul and Taylor later that morning once they were up and about, but still, she opted for a non-caffeinated variety. It was a sweet, fragrant blend she’d never heard of, one of the numerous gifts that had anonymously found their way to her desk. While she did not accept any money from Elias, the gifts were usually in the form of food, which she’d share with her coworkers and neighbors, but the tea, she kept for herself.

At first she had suspected John, of course, and Fusco laughed as he’d zinged her about Wonder Boy getting bold with his affections. However, John had met her with a blank stare that swiftly morphed into concern when she’d mentioned the expensive bottle of wine, and she’d changed the subject before he could overreact. She’d attempted to return the first few gifts before considering that it might be a ploy for more frequent visits. The confrontation proved to be fruitless, as Elias had feigned ignorance of such tributes, but agreed to keep only the wine. Afterwards, the gifts just kept coming.

As she started up towards her room to change, Joss nearly had the life startled out of her when she noticed a dark figure bathed in a faint glow down the hall from the staircase. Anger momentarily welled within her as she realized John was still lurking about in her home, but as she stalked over towards him, she could tell something was very, very wrong. “…John?”

He was standing motionless in the dark, seemingly mesmerized by the bright, strobing images that flashed across the screen of his cell phone. When he finally moved, turning to look at her, she could see his pale, shocked expression, and that his big blue eyes were now wet with tears.

She rushed over to him, “…John, what is it?”


	2. Wrongs Darker than Death…

**Isla San Juanito, Mexico**

The parched, dry-rotted ash splintered, cracked and then exploded outward as John Reese barreled through the flimsy wooden fence. He tumbled wildly into the dirt, but quickly pushed himself back up and regained his footing. Adrenaline coursed through his system, and he barely registered any discomfort as his legs burned from exertion and his bare feet slapped against the rocky ground. John sucked in oxygen as quickly as he could, twisting his torso to aid his long strides in propelling him further away from his pursuers. He could still hear them, yelling and running after him with snarling hounds on chains, yet, now, they seemed to be falling behind.

Despite the boasted peacefulness of the penal colony, John had seen it all around him. Certain men, usually those with no gang affiliation, being targeted by a roaming troupe of inmates. He’d heard the screams, and saw the aftermath--shamed and broken souls who could barely stand to hold a gaze or speak afterwards. John had vowed to stay out of it, no matter how much it opposed his natural inclination. He simply couldn’t afford to draw any attention to himself, but of course, that had all changed when he himself had been cornered.

The hot midday sun scorched his tanned skin and sweat ran in rivulets down his back, yet he did not stop, not even when he got to a shallow pit of muddy water. He trudged through it at full speed, thankful that it only came up to his knees at its deepest part, leaving his shirt unsubmerged. Only after running for a while longer, did he dare to cast a glance behind him. He’d been imprisoned in more than a few countries in his old life, but back then, he’d always been able to rely on The Company to extricate him. Now, he’d been left to his own devices after being attacked, abducted, and charged with drug trafficking. Back at the colony, he had held back and only aimed to incapacitate, but it had created the distraction he’d needed as others joined the fray when they saw him fighting back. Those who had been victimized themselves and their condolers, the promise of vengeance returning the light to their eyes in the heat of battle.

The guards, either unwilling or unable to do anything about the recent rash of assaults seemed to be far more interested in containment and public image. This, along with their abrupt desistence made his semblance of freedom all the more worrying. John had to consider the possibility that he was racing straight towards a fortified Cartel encampment, but it was a chance he had to take. It was far better to be out in the open where he could possibly secure transportation back to the mainland.

When John was sure he was no longer being chased, then and only then did he stop to catch his breath. He stooped over, using a tree for support as he pressed his hand to his hitching chest. He reached into his breast pocket to check on the condition of its contents. A smile of slowly dawning wonder stretched across his face, the same smile that occurred each time he gazed upon the image. He rapidly blinked the stinging sweat out of his eyes as he took a moment to rest in the cool shade of a palm tree.

 _That sound more like your story? Pal?_ When first setting eyes upon her, he’d snapped to from his fuzzy, ethanol-induce malaise for purely shallow reasons. Despite how charming she’d been, despite how friendly, he’d immediately sensed danger. In his experience, letting a powerful woman get too close was akin to sounding a death knell. He would not allow himself to be swayed, to be drawn in by a veneer of softness and compassion, the beauty of the woman in motion, only to later be skewered by the sharp jagged edges hidden beneath. In fact, his defenses had gone up as soon as she’d stepped into view, just beyond the bars of the security window. And yet…he’d been so eager to accept anything she offered. Her presence, her name, a simple refreshment, and after exchanging just a few words with her, he’d wanted to tell her everything, feeling the words bubble up and tickle the back of his throat. Before he could say too much, he’d clamped his jaw shut and tried not to smile so much, sweating bullets when she innocently leaned over the table so they could each get a better _look_.

He’d wanted to maintain eye contact with her for as long as possible, but Carter blinked away as she moved to sit on the table’s edge. John had once read about a social experiment that had been conducted in 1997 by a psychologist out of Berkeley, the conclusion of which John had thought to be preposterous at the time: get a woman to stare into your eyes for four minutes, she’d fall in love with you. Not quite hypnosis, but he found trying this out on Carter to be exhilarating. Even that early on, he was sure that he could feel his heart beating in tune with hers, inexorably entangling from that moment on. John remained defiant, determined to outplay her at her own game. He‘d held her gaze as he brought the cup she’d gifted him and imbued with her scent up to cover his mouth. His nostrils flared as he caught hints of fresh flowers over the faint trace of chlorine from the fountain water…needless to say, John loss that battle. He had found himself fascinated by her face while she found the crevice in his armor, pierced it, and invited herself in. Even the best of us made mistakes sometimes, and she’d knocked him off-balance and made her move when his mind couldn’t have been further away from thoughts of his own fingerprints pressed onto the sides of a cheap plastic cup.

Joss, being a true believer in punishment, doled it out generously, not only under the auspices of written law, but also on a much more personal level. The mere depravation of herself unto others she’d ensnared, as he would come to know, could be just a demoralizing as a sentence of banishment from one’s own loving home. It wasn’t until after she’d left the room, taking with her not only his identity, but her aura of sanctitude, did it occur to John that he wanted to become familiar with every side of the NYPD detective. Eventually, _want_ became _need_ , and afterwards, he’d worked tirelessly, literally shedding blood, sweat and tears just to earn the privilege. Joss the interrogator, the flatterer, the show-woman dazzled as he watched her seamlessly move through every step of the process, like an expertly choreographed dance, and as he watched her perform, John came to the understanding that not one bit of it was a lie. Joss played to win, and if a little hint of flirtation got her there, she had absolutely no problem indulging her quarry. A predator in her own right, she’d seen death, had been touched by the horrors of war and by the atrocities she’d seen through her work with the Homicide Task Force. Yet she’d come out of it somehow, transformed for the better, stronger, and truly knowing herself. So resilient, that her spirit remained splendidly undefiled even as she bravely intermeshed herself with all that lurked beneath the darkest veil of mankind.

John ran his finger along the thin edges, and the sharp, crisp corners of the wallet-size print. He told her he’d came to the city to find an old friend. He thought that he’d set out to rekindle a romance that’d been doomed from the very start. John was sure that he’d lost the most important piece of his soul when he realized Jessica was gone because he’d failed in his promise to be there for her. With no possible way to regain his humanity, he’d considered for the first time that Kara had been right. That he wasn’t even the same species anymore, let alone capable of maintaining a real connection with anyone. But once he met Joss…synapses firing, biochemical receptors activated, she’d proved that he, in fact, could. That part of himself that he feared he’d lost had merely been buried beneath the immense weight of guilt and grief so deep that only the most divine ray of light could revive it. It had to be more than simple infatuation; here, was a chance at redemption. She had been bright, alive, fiery, so much so, that he had almost mistaken her passion for sensuality, although with Joss, that mistake was not only understandable, it was unavoidable. She’d been the exact opposite of what he had felt at the time when he’d been teetering on the brink, and she’d re-awakened him in an encounter that lasted just shy of two minutes. As for the photo, it was still perfectly intact, a moment frozen in time of Joss with those eyes of hers comically squeezed shut and her lips puckered at the camera. John chuckled to himself and returned it to its rightful place, right next to his heart.

With a restored sense of calm, he stepped carefully through the ficus roots, and John’s meandering path soon led him to coastline. He’d hoped that he could find a boat there to steal, but when he got to the beach, he was met with nothing but pristine, blue perfection and white sands for as far as the eye could see.

Keeping the penal colony at his back, he moved further inland, and that’s when John began to see the dolls. All along his path, plastic dolls hung, strung up along the trunks and dangling from branches, poles and any other available elevated surface. As he continued on, John came across more hanging dolls that became more densely packed together as he went. None were completely intact, looking as though they’d been gathered from refuse that had perhaps washed up on shore. Many were discolored, or had strange symbols scrawled on their nude plastic or stuffed cloth bodies. Very few still had hair, appearing to have had it ripped out solely for the purpose of this grotesque art project. They were missing limbs or eyes, some were completely headless or had the stuffing partially ripped out, giving the grizzly impression of evisceration. All colors and genders were represented, but they were nearly all some sort of baby doll. 

There were obviously people nearby, the type who chose to live close to a penal colony and string up ‘dead’ dolls, and John questioned if he’d actually want to run into them. He slowed the pace of his walk when he finally spotted a clearing up ahead. There, he found a homestead, consisting of a simple two-story house, several outbuildings, and rows upon rows of neatly planted shrubs.

John hunkered down to watch. So far, he’d only seen young boys tending the crops and generally milling around. He needed to do this right, to be careful and case the place. He’d take them at night, commandeer their mode of transport and be on his way towards his cache in Sinaloa in no time. After observing them for about an hour, John was surprised by the hulking form of a Caucasian man who suddenly emerged from the house and began to speak to the boys. They all gathered around him, and then began to follow him towards the house. The man, with his long silver-grey hair glinting in the bright sunlight, looked to be in his 60s. John’s eye was drawn to a metallic glint at the man’s waist. The old guy was strapped… Just as a precaution, John took a single step to his left to further conceal his body within the shadows of the trees. 

John heard a faint click before he felt anything, and his heart pounded out of his chest when he realized a booby trap had been triggered. His instinct, going back to land mine training, was to throw himself to the ground and duck for cover, but he collapsed and rolled onto the ground when razor-sharp metal teeth snapped shut around his left ankle. John howled in pain as he curled his body, futilely gripping at the steel bear trap, now slick with his blood. Rendered helpless, John pressed his forehead to the ground and groaned into the soft earth as his vision began to grey. He brought his bloody fingers up to his face, catching the unmistakable stench of pig excrement before the world around him faded to black.

#

 

_Joss looked up at him with these big watery eyes and he was not sure if his heart could take it._

_She sighed, “I never thought I’d say this, but the Russians are worse than Elias. More manpower, fewer rules.”_

_John watched her shiver in the cold, drizzly weather before shifting his gaze slightly upwards. Above them, dark clouds gathered and obscured his view of the moon._

_“Storm’s on the horizon, John.”_

_He looked at her in surprise that she’d repeated the very words Harold had said to him not too long ago._

_“If I had only listened to Elias--,” Joss tensed when an unexpected bolt of lightning cleaved the clouds, followed by an ear-piercing crack of thunder, and then another, and yet another._

_Joss remained quiet, keeping her gazed fixed onto the ground, and to John she seemed deflated and just looked so_ lost _. John stepped closer and pressed himself to her. Nothing suggestive, just enough to feel her trembling against him and to let her know that he was there for her. Not quite the embrace he truly craved, but he settled for now, and let his restless arms dangle at his sides. Joss kept her hands tucked into her pockets and her eyes cast down, but the contact did seem to calm her some, even as the sky’s terrifying fit of rage continued. They stayed that way, huddled close together in silence until it passed. The wind picked up, and blew the fabric of his long winter coat around both of them._

_John blinked until his blurred vision cleared as he gazed down at Carter’s bowed head, “Summer of ’79.”_

_She lifted her head to stare at him, her eyes going wide._

_“You were just seven when you watched your father get struck down by lightning.”_

_Joss looked away and quickly brushed a tear from her cheek._

_“Despite what you still think, it wasn’t your fault. Neither is this.” He remained very still as she took a step away from him. She’d probably been gone too long ‘canvassing’ a block that was clearly deserted, and Terney might come looking for her at any moment. Joss regarded him with what looked to be awe, and perhaps a bit of fear, but he could understand why._

_“Is there anything you don’t know about me?” she asked him._

_John shook his head, “No.”_

 

The last reaming wisps of a dream world slowly vanished as John’s eyes opened, and the image of a man with long silver hair appeared to him through the slowly widening lattice of his eyelashes.

The man smiled, “You’re back.”

Realizing his left hand was cuffed to the bed post, John jerked wildly against his restraint, and nearly blacked out from the pain when he tried to pull his injured leg away.

The man placed his hands onto John’s shoulders, trying to keep him still, “It’s alright, son….” he said, keeping his voice low.

John could feel the capacity for considerable strength in the man’s grip, but he was gentle as he moved his hands to hold John’s face and peered into his eyes.

“You’re safe now,” he said as he slowly released John.

He sat on the bed, and told John that the cuffs were a necessary precaution to protect his children. Moving very slowly and deliberately, the man uncuffed him and explained that he’d almost died from sepsis, and for nine days, he’d been in and out of consciousness.

John had been nursed back to health and taken in by the man, who’d introduced himself as Eugene Watts. An American isolated on an island with orphans, John of course, had many questions. Eugene seemed more than happy to answer them, confessing that he felt starved of the adult conversation that he didn’t realize he’d missed. When Eugene offered John a joint to share, he opened up even more. He’d always wanted a family, and even followed his ex to her hometown in Mexico to beg her to come back…things didn’t work out, and he found himself on the wrong side of the law with no prospects. Now, he was content, living here with his new family of lost boys.

The marijuana was for the Cartel, and was the only reason he was allowed to stay on the island. The boys would be carefully hidden away when they’d send representatives to collect. He inquired about what John had been locked up for, but said he trusted him regardless because of the way he reacted, or rather didn’t react when he first treated his wounds. He knew specialized SERE training when he saw it. Eugene unbuttoned his short sleeve shirt to reveal the ‘ _de oppresso liber’_ tattoo on his shoulder, “Me too, brother,” he proudly declared.

 

When John felt as though he was well enough to move on, Eugene talked him into staying for a while longer to heal properly, and as payment for safe passage to Sinaloa. That, and the boys had grown fond of him. Despite his impatience to head back home, John agreed to these terms. He helped where he could as he healed, first cooking and cleaning around the house, and then helping in the fields and with hunts. He would often attend impromptu lectures given to the boys as they planted new seeds. “New life requires sacrifice,” Eugene told them as he covered a tiny seed with a mound of soil, “Death, blood, decay…It’s all a part of nature’s cycle. With that, the Bony Lady is satiated, and our crops continue to flourish.” When Eugene was not hunting or tending crops with the children, he sat in quiet contemplation, or poured over his medical journals, rarely ever without something to smoke or drink in hand.

The boys, his sons as Eugene called them, numbered seven in all, ranging in ages from 7 to 13. Orphans he’d taken in off the street. Aside from being on the thin side, the boys all seemed well-cared for and healthy. John took particular interest in the youngest, Juan Felipe, as he’d noticed that the boy never spoke one word and seemed to have difficulty chewing his food. When he asked Eugene about it, he responded, “Partial or total glossectomy, likely performed when Juan Felipe was a baby.” Upon John’s confused look, Eugene lowered his voice as he explained further, “Surgical removal of the tongue due to malignancy.”

One evening, after a successful boar hunt, John went searching for the youngest child who’d wondered off. He found the boy sitting alone on a rock jetty that overlooked the crashing waves. When John asked Juan Filipe if anything was wrong, the boy suddenly burst into tears. John sat with him on the rocks, and held him in his arms until the boy’s sobs eased. Together, they watched the sun set beneath the horizon, and then gazed up at the stars, complete and picturesque with the thick, cloudy band that arced across the night sky. He asked Juan if he knew the origin of the Milky Way, to which the mute boy shook his head. John told him of the Great Sky Mother, how she’d been nursing her young son, and when she dosed off, vandals from the underworld came and stole him away, spilling her starfire across the sky. For many years she searched for him, using the glow of the newly formed stars to light her path by night. Her son could see her searching for him from where he was imprisoned. He wanted to go to her, but couldn’t because there now was a barrier between their two worlds, above and below. Realizing this, the Sky Mother wept endlessly, creating the sea. The next day, her son was able to reflect her blue glow back at her from beneath the waves to let her know that he was ok, and that he still loved her as much as she loved him.

John continued to hold the boy, and carried him back to the homestead after he had fallen asleep. Eugene refused to allow Juan to sleep in John’s room, not even for a night, saying that the boy needed to grow up and learn to be more independent. The next morning when they’d all awakened, Juan had disappeared once more, not to be seen again until his lifeless body washed up on shore a few days later.

John pleaded with Eugene to get the boys and Juan Felipe’s body to officials, but he maintained that it was too dangerous; that the boys were rescued when the Cartel ordered hits on their families, and divulging their location to the police would surely get them all killed. Deep in his gut, John’s could not completely accept this, but he could not prove otherwise, nor did he have the capability to do anything unless he was willing to go back to the penal colony or try to swim 90 miles to Mazatlán.

 

After the funeral, John watched as the odd family tried to get back to normal, but the oldest boy, David seemed to be taking it the hardest. As John returned to the house carrying a basket full of vegetables, he could hear low, angry voices emanating from within. When he walked in on what had obviously been the tail end of a heated argument between Eugene and David, the boy stalked off angrily.

“What was that about?” John inquired.

Eugene looked off after David, “He blames me for what happened to Juan.” Eugene gestured for John to sit so he could look at his ankle.

Eugene remarked that his ankle was almost completely healed now, and that John was very lucky that it hadn’t been broken. He was more soft-spoken than usual, as would be expected after such a tragedy, and seemed to be moving more slowly. John peered at him, “Are _you_ ok?”

Eugene nodded as he checked John’s stitches, “It’s just that…” Eugene swallowed and took a moment, blinking his eyes thoughtfully, “That boy has a sharp tongue.”

 

Later that night, John sat alone in his room, looking at his photo of Joss. It had been a prank devised by none other than Sameen Shaw when Joss had foolheartedly sent her the image in jest. Shaw then disseminated the picture to practically everyone on her contacts list, claiming that Joss had finally accepted her requests for a date. A group message, but he was sure the caption ‘Eat your heart out, white boy!’ was meant for him specifically. Alone and on a stakeout, John had soon become irritated for various reasons when his phone vibrated every few moments with comments of gratitude and compliments to Joss. Shaw’s circle of associates was not very large and included key players on both sides of the law. Just based on the wording of one message, he was sure the comment had come from a certain LCN boss who had mysteriously vanished from within the secure walls of Rikers…but that was what Joss did. Her gift to the world was in bringing together disparate parties who’d otherwise be hell-bent on killing one another.

 

Something, just beyond his conscious perception, roused John from his dreams of an angel in blue. He got up at once, taking his flashlight with him to go check on the boys, finding all but one of them soundly sleeping in their beds. He went outside and conducted a precursory sweep of the immediate area, swinging the beam of his flashlight around towards the closest outbuildings. His intuition led him around to the far side of the shed where Eugene slaughtered and butchered pigs. The shed’s door had been left open, and inside, next to a shelving unit that had been pushed aside to reveal it, John discovered a door. John descended the staircase carefully, minding his tender ankle as he shifted his weight against the chilly concrete. The basement was spacious, with minimal overhead track lighting all throughout, and perhaps could’ve served as a peaceful sanctuary from the muggy heat above ground had it not smelled of old, musty death.

As he cautiously made his way further into the basement, John squinted to make out words that appeared to have been scrawled in blood on the stone wall. A poem-

‘In a shroud of human skin, as we celebrate the dead, in the honor of your wealth, in triumph we behead.’

The narrow corridor gradually widened as John approached a T-junction. To his left was large darkened chamber, but John’s curiosity drew him to the passageway on his right, which lead to a small room that emanated soft flickering candle light. As he rounded the corner, John was amazed by what he saw. He’d known Eugene to often made mentions of her in his teachings, but John had not suspected him of being an active worshipper. At the center of the small alter room, stood a large glass case encapsulating what looked to be a real human skeleton clothed in vibrant red robes and lavishly styled in the likeness of _Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte._ The entire display stood about seven feet high to accommodate her majestic feathered headdress. She carried a scythe in one hand and with the other, held a small globe close to her chest. The Bony Lady was flanked by two mannequins dressed as brides, posed with their veiled heads bowed and their hands pressed together in prayer. The candles that lit the room were arranged in a semicircle at Santa Muerte’s feet, and religious sigils in white chalk decorated the floor.

With his flashlight guiding the way, John proceeded into the large chamber, which appeared to be some sort of workshop. There, he found three more life-sized dolls, all apparently female, dressed as brides with unrealistically cinched waists. John at first assumed that they’d look similar to wax figures or mannequins, but when he lifted one of the bride’s veils…John reeled away from what he saw… He swung is beam of light around the dark workshop to see the details he’d initially missed. The drains on floor, the scalpels, the burning sting of formaldehyde in the air and the trocar were all dead giveaways that these were not mannequins.

Grabbing a scalpel, John moved fast when he heard muffled screams and yelling. He headed through the labyrinth of catacombs and chambers in the direction where he thought the commotion had come from. He called out for David, but didn’t get a response, and by the time John located the correct room, it had already been too late.

Eugene knelt over David, still brandishing the bloody flaying knife and the red mound of flesh he’d just extracted from the boy’s mouth. David lay on the floor convulsing in pain and gurgling his own blood as it quickly flooded into his mouth. Having endured such violent trauma, the boy in no way could’ve thought clearly enough to try and roll over to clear his airway. John watched in horror as the boy’s blood poured from him, drenching his clothing and the floor beneath him. For a moment, John was frozen in place as all rational thought eluded his mind. This was not, could not be reality as he knew it…perhaps he’d never survived his escape attempt from the penal colony at all. He’d finally been sucked into the depths of hell where he belonged.

Eugene looked up at him, his pale eyes wide and frenzied, “Johnny…”

He drew his gun, forcing John to a staggering halt before he even realized he’d been rushing forward towards the boy.

“So sorry you had to see that…but, you know what they say…”

John looked on numbly as David choked to death on his own blood. When he turned his attention back to Eugene, he was already on him. John’s eyes first focused on muzzle of the pistol, and then on the coagulating blood slowly dripping from Eugene’s hand.

“…A proper lady should be seen, not heard…right, brother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to chop this chapter in half because it was getting too long & depressing, but the mood WILL lighten eventually!


	3. …Or Night

**Manhattan, NY**

**August 2013**

 

Jocelyn Carter rushed up the steps to her home, with her head bowed as she tried to reach Taylor’s cell one more time. She pushed her damp, errant bangs away from her face before cradling the phone between her shoulder and ear, while fumbling with her keys, “Come on…pick up…”

Replaying the events of the day, it’d now seemed so obvious…she should’ve known something was up. With the exception of Fusco and LaBlanca, not one of her coworkers would greet her or look her directly in the eye. She wondered what she’d done this time to once again be treated as the black sheep. She had been told that the reason she no longer could access the NYPD data base was due to an IT bug, and she’d resorted to borrowing Lionel’s login for the day.

As it turned out, now that the threat of HR had passed, Joss’ real problems were just getting started. Later in the day, when people began to shut down their workstations and head home, Captain Womack called her into his office. He looked at her with sad, puffy eyes as he told Joss that she could no longer work for NYPD in any capacity. Stunned, and sure she’d misheard him, she asked him to repeat his last. Womack had actually apologized to her, which had surprised the hell out of her but it wasn’t enough. She’d demanded to know why she was being terminated, but all Womack would say to her was that there was nothing he could do. When he ordered her to surrender her badge and weapon, threatening jail time if she refused, her temper flared uncontrollably--after everything she’d done for this city and the PD. She’d lashed out and slapped the spineless scum hard across his face, leaving an angry red welt--which was when all hell had broken loose.

Womack wouldn’t even look at Carter as she was immediately wrapped up in strong arms and stripped of her badge and weapon. A cacophony of angry voices followed--some in her defense, some in that of the Captain’s. Carter was dragged to the exit and nearly tossed out on her ass by Kane of all people. She caught her balance to avoid stumbling face-first down the concrete steps, attracting the attention of a few rubberneckers who’d been passing by. From where she stood on the sidewalk, she could see Lionel being forced by Olsen back into the precinct, being warned not to interfere unless he was prepared to face the same fate. The two former partners stared at each other in disbelief until Fusco was pulled back inside.

“Ma’am…” one of the young uniformed officers approached her, speaking to her softly, “We’re gonna need you to move along.” 

She side-stepped the kid and tried to ignore her, moving to charge right back up the steps of the 8th, but she was blocked by the unis, outraged when one reached for his sidearm, yet still, Carter lingered. She headed across the street and watched the building for a while, staring daggers at her colleagues as some of them left and went on about their day as usual. She’d refused to be so pathetic as to beg them for an explanation, so instead, she began dialing numbers until someone from the Commissioner’s office finally picked up. “Yes, this is Detective Carter, Homicide Task Force,” she began, desperately trying to keep the panic out of her voice, “I think there’s been some sort of a mistake--”

“No mistake, Detective,” an unfamiliar male voice told her, “But,” he said with something halfway between a sigh and a chuckle, “If I were you, I’d consider leaving town. While you still can.” She stood there, staring at her phone for several seconds after he’d hung up. Nature abhors a vacuum, and Joss had to consider the possibility of a second police-operated crime syndicate with ties to HR that would see her as a threat to its prosperity. After what seemed like an eternity, Joss silently willed her feet to _move_.

When she rushed through the door, her vision was blurred with unshed tears, but she could make out the form of someone sitting in her home, waiting. Carter dropped her cell phone and blindly groped around for her personal weapon, a Glock 26, hidden in a holster beneath an end table near the front door. “Shaw?” she called out, almost hopeful, and hating the way her voice trembled and cracked. The figure shifted its head to look at her, and her dread deepened along with her certainty as she saw light glinting off of what were unmistakably wire-rimmed glasses.

“It’s just me, Joss.”

“ _YOU--_ ” she said through gritted teeth as she advanced on him. Carl Elias slowly raised his palms to her, yet remained seated. “I should’ve known never to trust you!” She brought the barrel of her gun close to the center of his smug face, but paused when she heard the grinding of metal gears as a pistol’s hammer was being pulled close to her temple. Joss stepped away from Elias and lowered her gun.

“Sorry, Detective,” Anthony Marconi said as he plucked her gun from her hands and tucked it into his waistband. Avoiding her angry glower, he actually sounded sincere, and as he proceeded to gently pat her down, Joss noted that his characteristic smirk was nowhere to be seen. “I’ll wait in the car,” he announced after handing her pocket knife over to Elias.

Joss crossed her arms tightly as she glared towards the living room window, far too angry with Elias and disgusted with herself to even glance at him. “Well,” she exhaled, her distaste evident, “You certainly work fast.”

“That, I do.” He slightly tilted his head as he watched her, raptly studying all of the multitudes of emotions that flashed across her face. Joss never learned…emotional honesty rarely ever did anyone any good, because it always came at a cost. Whether it had been the accumulation of all that had happened in these past few months, or something that lingered from her past, for a highly skilled interrogator, Carter tended to show her hand when she wasn’t actively trying to suppress it. Her demeanor, her mannerisms and indefatigable altruism would always betray what truly lay beneath her tough-cop persona and to him, had telegraphed _vulnerability_. It had only worked to reinforce an instinctive urge to protect, treasure and procure her for himself, but he took no pleasure in her distress. He knew how unfair this was to her, but such was life. It had always been up to him to be proactive, to create his own opportunities, and here was one that he simply couldn’t pass up. In his vision for the future of this city, he could prevail as the guardian of all that was civilized, but he needed an interface; someone with the ability to elicit trust, and who would be seen as good and kind, someone to believe in and look up to, even while a stony-faced gargoyle stood beside her.

Midsummer storms could be some of the most frightening. They seemingly appeared out of nowhere, descending upon the unsuspecting masses with unwarranted fury. She’d hated them ever since she was small, but that was one childish abstraction Joss could never quite grow out of. The fine hairs on the back of her neck tingled moments before a bolt of lightning momentarily turned the grey sky a shocking, electric blue. She let a long moment pass in silence, broken only by the sudden patter of raindrops against her living room windows before she could voice her thoughts; what she should have been expecting all along, really, and still Elias just stared at her, patiently waiting with his hands folded in his lap. “You here to kill me?” she asked quietly.

“After everything we’ve been through together, I’d never entertain the thought,” he assured her.

“Then what do you want, Elias?”

Carl had long since come to the conclusion that there were only two ways with which he could deal with the specific enigma that was Carter, but he was not completely heartless. He’d been just like her once, an open book for all to read, and eager to help elevate those around him so they could reach their full potential. It had been part of why the teaching profession had come so naturally to him, and he did not think himself above others who weren’t quite as well-equipped to handle setbacks in life, in fact, he envied them. He still felt as deeply as any other man, but along the way, he’d developed the ability to detach, to leave his raging emotions in the back of his mind where they belonged, and to focus on what was important. It had been an on-going deadening process that had started when he’d witnessed his mother’s murder, and reached its apex of perfection upon his very first kill.

She’d saved his life when she sent him off to Rikers, humbled. After she’d saved him for the second time, it didn’t take him long to deem her the right choice in all of this. With connections in every corner of NYC, her allies could soon become his own. ‘Pleasing to the eye’ would be an understatement, and if the young, handsome math-wiz Taylor was any indication, she carried within her excellent genetics and mothering skills, in addition to being a soldier and a brilliant strategist. Despite his surprisingly strong paternal feelings towards the children he’d taught, Carl never had any of his own, had never thought it wise, considering his dark lineage. Having been robbed of his own mother’s love, it had been fascinating to observe how so much of what Joss did revolved around Taylor, right down to her profession and the very reason she carried a badge…

However, an alliance had been strengthened that night, four months ago. And, whether Jocelyn knew it or not, a blood bond had been forged when she’d asked him to kill for her. He fully acknowledged the part he played in laying out that path before her, but she’d made her own choices, and her naïveté served in no way as an excuse for her to continue to shirk her responsibilities to the Family. Elias silently drew in a breath through his sensitive front teeth, taking a moment to allow the cooling sensation to disperse throughout his body before he finally responded, “You can’t leave the city.”

“Says you?” she challenged.

He got up from the chair, approaching her cautiously, and continued, “You can’t leave the city because it’s still your home.” Facing her now, he propped himself against the armrest of the couch she was closest to, and primly clasped his hands in front of him.

She shook her head, and shifted away, her gaze never once leaving the window.

“You still love this city,” he insisted.

She drew in a trembling breath, “Get out of my house--”

“Joss,” Elias continued, “Just because things are different now, doesn’t mean you no longer have a place here. A purpose.”

She looked at him with her eyebrows slightly drawn together in curiosity, and Elias smiled. It was then that he reached out to take her hand, cradling it within his own. His subtle, masterful grooming of her began with a simple smile, and a begrudging laugh at one of his self-depreciating jokes. Despite how wary she’d been of him in the beginning, she’d agreed to a few sips of wine, and shared meals here or there, so long as he stayed within the bounds of their prior arrangement. Before long she’d grown at ease with his presence and even his touch, but she’d been so focused on HR that the perils of such allowances barely registered to her. She hadn’t seen it as such at the time, but Elias’ demands had been steadily increasing, despite the fact that she’d once saved his life. She thought of how short-sighted she’d been to let her guard down in a moment of triumphant hubris once her status as a detective had been reinstated, and of how foolish she’d been to believe he’d ever let her get away with such a thing.

The diffuse street lights glaring off of his glasses’ lenses obscured her view of his eyes, giving him the ethereally sinister appearance of a creature that had taken shape from the darkness around her, comprised of all teeth and no soul. _We’re all mad here_ …Joss shivered, despite the warm, muggy air and sweat-plastered hair at the nape of her neck. Still, she looked for any tells, and with barely a hint, she found herself focusing on his mouth, intent on not missing one word, and preparing herself for almost anything.

“I meant what I’ve been telling you for the past few months,” Elias said as he stroked the side of her hand with his thumb, “There’s a place just for you in my organization.”

“I’d rather die than be one of your lackeys,” she said, pulling free of his grasp.

“Not a lackey, Joss,” he said as he returned his own hands to their loosely clasped position. “A full partner. One with the ability to veto any decision you find to be objectionable, your voice will count. You’ll have the means help others, to enact the changes our city so desperately needs...As for our goals, I don’t have to tell you how perfectly they align…you already know.”

Things had changed so much since John and Harold had disappeared seemingly into the ether. No word from either of her friends for months on end, and while the hacker known as Root seemed to be handling the mysterious cases Joss herself used to work with John, Root rarely ever called upon her for help, instead opting to primarily employ Detective Lionel Fusco and ex-ISA operative Sameen Shaw. She knew this was most likely Samantha Groves’ way of protecting her in John’s absence, likely due to orders handed down to her by Harold, but the exclusion left Joss feeling underutilized and superfluous.

The murders of Cal Beecher, of Bill Szymanski, and her demotion, still fresh on her mind and raw in her heart had all been demonstrations of HR’s power, meant to serve as a warning to not interfere, but still she’d fought them, and with Elias’ help, she’d defeated them. She thought of Taylor and of her mother, and how much safer Elias’ influence had already made the city. The gang of common street thugs otherwise known as Human Resources, combined with the Russian mob’s propensity for violence had all amounted to a living nightmare. Back then, the NYPD was being seeded with fresh, impressionable rookies like Laskey, whose bloodlines demanded their loyalty to the _Bratva_ , and the bodies of the young and the innocent had been dropping all around her. Elias had be right then, perhaps he was now. Joss closed her eyes for a moment and tried to swallow around the hard lump in her throat, “I’m…listening…”

Carl elaborated, “As much as you’d like it to, organized crime will never go away. With HR and the Russians gone, the LCN is once again the de facto ruling party…I simply cannot stress to you how important it is that you finally _choose the right side_.”

She analyzed his words this time, looking beyond them, and came to understand now why he’d been trying so hard, the reason behind his patient persistence and the desperation in his pursuit. The words he chose to use were nothing more than coded stand-ins for an implication that apparently even he couldn’t bring himself to vocalize, yet she knew it was not enough of an deterrent to stop him from carrying out the action if he deemed it unavoidable…Joss Carter, the dedicated investigator who would, no doubt, eventually find a way to put Elias back behind bars wasn’t allowed to leave _his_ city…and yet…there was no way he’d ever allow her to stay.

The corner of Elias’ mouth wavered just a bit, and he began to stammer, “These past few months have been…well--”

Joss narrowed her eyes at him as he uncharacteristically seemed to struggle with his own words, and she tensed when she saw him jam his hand into his pants pocket.

“Yours has been a calming, civilizing force, and uh…”

Joss watched in disbelief--an _unwillingness_ to believe, as Elias produced a velvet-covered jewelry box and opened it before her. All she could focus on in that instance was what she’s hoped instead had been loaded pistol pointed right at her face. Joss’ stomach sank as she felt the sparkling jewel suck her into a dark, airless void when Elias presented to her the biggest diamond she’d ever seen up close. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips, and when she blinked, the tears that had been standing in her eyes finally began to fall.

“There’s no denying it, Detective,” Elias said blithely, “You and I make one hell of a team.”

 

Anthony adjusted his rearview mirror to watch Carl make his way down the brownstone’s steps, backlit by blue lightening that was followed moments later by the distant crash of thunder. The man, looking completely at ease, slowly strolled towards the car and got in. The leather upholstery creaked as he eased into the passenger’s seat before he slammed the door shut and removed his rain-dotted spectacles. Carl’s calm features gave nothing away at first, and Anthony had not heard any telltale sounds of a physical altercation or gunfire, so he remained hopeful that all had gone well between Carl and the lovely detective. The only thought that gave him some respite was that of the many gifts passed down from his father Gianni, Anthony knew Carl could be a silent, discreet killer. Handier with a knife than he’d usually let on, some of Carl’s most creative work had been done in the dead quiet of hot summer nights, just like this one.

It really was none of his concern, but Anthony’s curiosity got the best of him. “So,” Anthony began, arching a brow at Carl, “How’d it go, boss?” he noted the faint flush dappling upon Carl’s cheeks as he used a handkerchief to dry his glasses. 

A bashful, toothy grin crept onto the mob don’s face as he responded, “ _Veni, vidi, vici_.”


	4. When in Rome

**July 2014**

Finally alone, Patti D’Agostino stepped out of the club’s rear entrance, and into the warm evening air, taking in a deep, cleansing breath. She’d been lectured before about wandering around on her lonesome, but she’d just needed a relatively brief and quiet break from the incessant noise and commotion, seeking a moment of solace so she could hear at least some of her own thoughts. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching before she lit a cigarette, the first one she’d had in years. She walked the path around the perimeter of the small parking lot towards the trees on the far side, but even at 80ft away she could still feel the pounding bass of the loud music; being in the midst of it all had been a headache and a half. Patti peeked upwards and into the illuminated windows of nearby apartment buildings, sighing out a puff of smoke as she watched a young couple chatting in front of the TV. _Stupid_ …she didn’t know why she’d even purchased a pack after so long. They tasted just as disgusting as she’d remembered, and she could already feel the nicotine rushing into her veins…what would Benny say if he could see her now?

The job was starting to get to her. Even with all of the improvements made to the local industry, so many young women still had many problems with which to contend. With the abusive family members, baby daddy drama, substance abuse situations, there seemed to be no end in sight. Patti blew another puff of smoke into the humid air and watched as it slowly dissipated. She never quite knew what to say to those girls. She tried to be there for them, but coming from a background in car insurance underwriting, counseling wasn’t exactly her forte, and without fail, they’d always ask for Joss. She’d have to see the disappointment on their young faces when she had to tell them that Joss was apparently far too busy with more important people and tasks. Dissatisfied now, and overly jittery, she dropped her unfinished cigarette to ground and crushed it beneath the pointy toe of her crocodile red bottoms.

“Patti.”

She looked up to see the new girl, a young woman with tan skin and dark wavy hair, dressed as gaudily as her profession would dictate, slink towards her on high heels.

“Arella, what is it?” she asked as the girl reached for and tightly grasped both of her hands. Arella just stood, staring into Patti’s eyes long enough to for her to grow concerned.

Arella glanced over her shoulder and then back at Patti, looking somewhat apologetic, “He just wants to talk…”

A half-dozen young men and a girl with a long ponytail, all dressed in fatigues or black utility wear, stepped out of the surrounding shadows. Patti stepped away from Arella, and reached into her purse for her phone.

“You could call it in,” a tall man with his hands clasped before him said to her, “But if you do, you’ll never learn of the retribution your husband was so wrongly denied…”

#

“Turn it up!” Megan Tillman positively squealed as one of her favorite songs played over the radio.

The driver smiled at her through the rear view mirror as he obliged. Her boss and the other passengers didn’t seem to mind at all, sitting in comfortable reticence as they neared their destination.

_…Gone are the dark clouds that made me blind…_

She’d forgotten to bring her sunglasses, but didn’t mind at all as she gazed though the car’s windows. When she took a moment to use the tinted glass to check her makeup, enough of the bright sunlight filtered through to illuminate the tiny golden flecks in her hazel eyes. Despite being so nervous, Megan smiled at her own reflection, and tried to channel just some of Joss’ confidence. An astute observer by nature, back when she was still working in the ER, she’d noticed something was different months before Joss had come to her in a dire time of need. Back then, she’d feared that the lull in gang-related medical emergencies was only temporary, perhaps serving as the eye of a storm, and an ominous prelude for what was yet to come. When Joss had appeared in her office one evening, Megan’s expression had gone from a pleasantly surprised smile to a somber frown as Joss told her everything…about John’s disappearance, about her resignation from the NYPD, and about her marriage.

Megan’s busy schedule had left her little leeway to even consider making house calls, but for one or two very special patients, she’d happily obliged. She’d arrived late at night after receiving a call from Elias himself, and was subsequently greeted at the mansion’s door by a man who’d introduced himself as Bruno. Bruno, who’d complained openly to her of job-related ulcers as he led her to the second floor, had left her alone on the landing after directing her towards a room just down the hall. Taking advantage of her solitude, Megan clutched her medical bag, and retrieved from it the scalpel she’d stashed there. She walked slowly, trying to be silent as she approached the slightly ajar bedroom door, but her heels tapping against the hardwood surely announced her presence despite her efforts. She tightened her grip on the scalpel’s handle and steeled herself as she quietly pushed the door open. She watched them for one surreal moment, there in their beautiful, pristine home. Lost in their own world, the odd couple had not even taken notice of her. Joss’ glassy-eyed gaze became even more unfocused when her husband pressed a hand to her belly, and Megan could not help but feel a twinge of anger, as she felt that it should’ve been John there, holding Joss’ hand and comforting her.

The whole picture, as objectively pretty as it may have been, just felt so wrong, and Megan could not shake her sense of foreboding. It had not been easy for her, coming to terms with all that had changed within the city and within her own life, but in realizing what Joss had been willing to sacrifice for the sake of so many others, Megan’s own personal concerns seemed paltry by comparison. When she’d first met Joss during an emergency house call at John’s loft, she’d been surprised to learn that the stunning woman who’d opened John’s apartment door was in fact, an NYPD detective. Megan could sense how close they were, how happy they’d been just to be near each other. As she worked on his injuries, John kept his eyes locked onto his detective, and Joss had grasped his hand firmly when he reached for her.

The juxtaposition she’d created for herself within her mind had been jarring to say the least, and while Joss had not seemed fearful of her new husband, Megan had seen this type of psychosomatic reaction before… Joss seemed to be slowly giving up and succumbing to what were perhaps the most dangerous of thoughts. Dr. Tillman discretely tucked the scalpel back into her bag before entering the room.

Back then, in the weeks following her procedure, Joss’ recovery had not been progressing as expected. She had remained bedridden and feeling pain where logically, there should’ve been none. Joss would not speak, and barely looked up at Megan during the examination. Afterwards, she’d stepped aside and once again observed the two of them together as Elias continued to play the part of tender, doting husband all too well. Elias helped Joss take her sedative and gently stroked her cheek, all while whispering softly to her until she dozed off.  Only then did Mr. Elias, looking just as wan and almost as miserable as Joss, approach Megan with an idea he’d been toying with, “You could help us…” he’d said to her, still keeping his voice low although Joss was now sleeping soundly. “…Just something to take the edge off…” he continued. Megan tried her best to appear more attentive to his words than she actually was. And while she’d gotten the gist of his plan, his actual words had begun to fade in and out of her reality as she found her attention repeatedly drawn towards the sleeping woman, laying there with her hair perfectly swirled about her head atop the silk pillowcase, breathing deeply and steadily upon an altar of soft white blankets. From what she’d been told, from what Megan now knew of this new, complex conglomeration of people, organizations, and ideologies, things could fall apart very quickly if Joss remained unable fulfill her role.

“If you need to…” Elias had said to her. The cold touch of his trembling fingers upon her arm brought Megan back to the present, “You could maybe just think about it for a while--”

Megan blinked her gaze back towards Elias, “Ok.”

 _“OK_?” he repeated, with a quizzical twist of his head.

Megan took a deep breath and smiled, “Ok.”

And yet, she had still been hesitant to proceed, unsure if she was really doing the right thing. Unlike falsifying medical records for a dear friend of a friend, this was altogether a different story. However, as the weeks passed, Megan slowly came to realize the potential of Elias’ design as she began to observe very real, very tangible results. Joss was getting stronger, the color was returning to her skin and she was truly coming back into herself. Overjoyed with Joss’ recovery and the success of the drug trial, Megan threw her arms around the woman and wept right along with her. Megan felt a sense of peace, and marveled at how at ease she’d ultimately felt with the decisions she had made.

The car finally slowed to a stop. After putting the car in park, the driver got out to open Megan’s door for her as the others exited. She grabbed her briefcase and Joined Mr. Elias and the others as they all headed up the steps of Manhattan’s 8th precinct.

#

Detective Lionel Fusco instantly recognized the petite brunette with blonde highlights accompanying Elias’ crew as Dr. Tillman. It didn’t take any police work to figure that Elias’ already extensive network of people had been widened considerably through his marriage, but he had no idea Tillman signed on. Lionel couldn’t guess as to why Joss had chosen not inform him, but at this point Lionel had grown accustomed to being kept out of the loop. Knowing Joss, she’d give him some line about needing to protect him, but such excuses were rarely ever successful in easing the sting of exclusion.

The good doctor looked much healthier since the last time he’d seen her; a few extra pounds of muscle and a nice tan had done wonders to accentuate her natural good-looks, not to mention the sleep she was likely getting more of now, after the score John had settled for her. Lionel sipped his coffee as he watched Elias’ bodyguards before eyeing the briefcase that Megan was carrying. Elias was looking sharp of course, flaunting his status in his bespoke tailored suit, and sporting a completely bald head now with a salt-and-pepper goatee. Movement drew Lionel’s gaze to Elias’ hands as he flexed his fingers and began to fidget with his wedding band. Although he knew he’d see her tonight for a short while, Lionel wondered how Joss had been getting on lately…he’d only been able to get ahold of her through email, but even that was spotty at best.

Megan smoothed a hand down her leg to straighten the hem of her grey wrap dress as she returned Elias’ nod. She approached the front of the muster room with an engaging smile, “Good afternoon, everyone,” she said as she placed her briefcase onto the table at the head of the room. “I’m Doctor Tillman. I had hoped to make this presentation with Joss, but as you all know, she’s quite busy at the moment.”

In the brief spell of silence that followed, Lionel caught a few uneasy glances and felt acutely sensitive to the soft sounds of minute shuffling. Lionel turned his attention to his partner as he took another sip of his coffee. Along with Fusco himself, LaBlanca had been one of the most vocal protesters of this new fresh hell that somehow needed to include Carter being so deeply tied to the mafia.

“Time for a little show and tell, I guess,” Tillman said as she turned to open the briefcase, and to Lionel, she looked like a seasoned show host from the HSN as she held up a small pill bottle, “Blue Fairy is a sub-clinical strength mood stabilizer combined with naturally-occurring psychedelic compounds, such as psilocybin and psilocin…” She handed the bottle to a uniformed officer on her left to start its journey around the room. “It is non-habit forming, users do not become heavily inebriated, lethargic or violent. Just very, very happy! It’s almost as if--” Tillman gestured energetically with her small hands, appearing to bring forth an invisible force from within as she searched for the right words, “As if a well of warmth and happiness just bubbles up from inside of you, and everything just feels right with the world…”

Tillman succeeded in eliciting lighthearted laughter all around, and _almost_ everyone in the room seemed to visibly relax, if only just a little. Lionel plucked his reading glasses from his breast pocket when the pill bottle got to him, and examined it closely. With regards to shape and size, it was similar any brand you’d find on a shelf at any drug store, except is was satiny black in color and intricately illustrated. Iridescent blue and metallic gold vines crisscrossed around the body of the bottle, and a glowing, all-blue winged fairy whose features were unsurprisingly reminiscent of Joss’, knelt facing forward on a flower with her full lips puckered as she blew kiss. Fusco quickly banished the sneaking half-smile from his face when Sherri shot him a dangerous look as she grabbed the bottle from his fingers.

“Sounds like you might have some personal experience, Doctor,” a handsome officer with bright blue eyes and curly brown hair remarked.

“Oh-- Officer Valentino is it?” Megan said, blushing as she smiled at him, “Well I may or may not have had a hand in developing it, but what I can say for sure is that regular users remain cognizant enough to stay safe, to drive, get their work done, interact normally with others, and even study for school exams. It just may in fact, be a miracle drug--”

“School exams,” Detective LaBlanca interjected, “Just what is the age limit for this stuff?” she asked, as she handed the bottle back to Tillman.

Dr. Tillman smiled hesitantly and looked to her boss.

“Eighteen and over is acceptable,” Elias responded, “I don’t want this stuff in the hands of children, and of course, you’re free to use your own discretion on a case-by-case basis as far as confiscation is concerned.”

LaBlanca folded her arms tightly and avoided his gaze.

“Detective,” Megan said to LaBlanca, “Street drugs will always be in high demand. If Blue Fairy can displace the worst of them, we’ll see a marked decline in drug-related deaths…assaults, even.”

Elias gestured to Megan to wrap it up. “Like it or not, detectives,” he said, “Blue Fairy is what’s going to fund your retirements.”

Dr. Tillman packed up her briefcase, and joined the entourage as they gathered by the door.

Elias nodded to them in closing, “If you have any other questions or concerns, you know how to reach me.” With that, the group exited.

“Nice…” Sherri said as she unfolded her arms and hightailed it out of the room.

The others began their slow exit, moving around Fusco as he stood in place and watched Sherri storm off towards the ladies’. He sighed, and studied the scrolling key pattern that curved around the rim of his paper cup. _We are happy to serve you!_ The cheesy slogan normally didn’t bother him much at all, but now he found it to be just as nauseatingly chipper as the good doctor’s disposition. Lionel crumpled the empty cup in his fist and tossed it into a waste bin as he headed back towards his desk.

 

“It just pisses me off”, LaBlanca had once said to him after one of Elias’ briefings, “How he just walks in here like he owns the place…”

“Look around,” Fusco replied, referring to the recent tech upgrades, the renovations, _good_ coffee and donuts, “That’s because he does.”

“Thanks to that wife of his,” LaBlanca remarked bitterly.

“That’s right,” Fusco retorted, “Thanks to her, our kids are getting full rides to any college they want.”

Sherri scowled at him.

“I get it. We all want her back, but would you really want to go back to the way it was before?  All-out gang wars and three or four new homicides a week when the Russians were active?”

LaBlanca could not hide her outrage, but she breathed it away as best she could, and finally relaxed her posture.

He hated to see his partner so upset, but he needed to get through to her. Now was far too dangerous a time for contention, “Yeah…That’s what I thought.”


	5. Within the Gates of Hades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: Chapter 4 was actually posted sometime last week, not in June [back when I started the draft]...took me a minute to figure that one out, but I won't be making that mistake again, lol.

**August 2013**

Lionel paced about the small dining area of his darkened apartment and stared. The glass of whiskey he’d poured hours ago sat untouched on his dinner table, spotlighted from above by the dim light of a hanging lamp. He stopped by his front door for the umpteenth time to look through the peephole, the very definition of insanity, and as expected, the fish-eye lens showed him nothing. He sat down heavily at the table and yanked at the knot of his tie to loosen it, preparing himself to throw away two whole years of sobriety over the unknown fate of his partner. He wrapped his fingers around the glass and brought it to his mouth, but before one drop of poison could touch his lips, the stench sent his stomach into violent revolt. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth as he gagged, and hurriedly brought both the glass and bottle to the sink, dumping them down the drain. Deciding that it was time to give up on his lonely vigil and head off to bed for yet another sleepless night, he picked up his phone one more time to check for messages, still hopeful although he had no real reason to be.

Then, finally, it came. A soft rap against his door, the knock he'd been anticipating for days now. Gnashing his teeth, he stalked over towards the door, already growing angry.

He swung the door open to find a perfectly intact Carter standing there and staring at him. Her cheeks were a bit flushed, and her eyes were puffy, but otherwise she looked as gorgeous as ever, in what had become her signature summer attire of a light-weight black leather jacket and boots, along with skin tight jeans and a tank top, “Carter, what the hell?”

She reached out to touch him, but he shifted away and out of her reach.

“Three days, Joss, you don’t answer my calls?” he said, his voice getting louder by the syllable.

Joss shrank away from him, and wrung her fingers restively.

“I go to your apartment, the lights were out, I thought something terrible had happened to you! I nearly had a coronary, not knowing anything--”

They both looked over when they heard the creak of an opening door to see Lionel’s adolescent son poking his head out of his room.

Joss quickly wiped away her tears before Lionel could see them, and smiled at the boy, “Hey, Lee.”

“Hey, Joss,” he replied, regarding her with an uncertain smile and wide, blue eyes, so much like his father’s.

“Yeah, it’s ok, son,” Lionel huffed, winded from his rant. Despite how keyed-up he felt, the elder Fusco tried to keep a cheerful smile on his face, “Go on back to bed now.”

Lee glanced between the two of them before slowly retreating back to his room.

Fusco turned back to Joss and stood aside to allow her entry, “Well, are you gonna come in?”

“I can’t--” Interrupted when her cell phone chirped a notification, she pulled it from her jacket’s pocket to glance at it.

He immediately noticed that it was a style and model he'd never seen before, “When did you get a new phone?”

“I don’t have a lot of time to chat right now, Lionel,” she sighed, “I just wanted to let you know that I’m fine. And also…that you shouldn’t try to contact me.”

“ _What--?!”_ he exclaimed, slumping his shoulders as he exhaled.

“Not for a little while, at least.”

The phone she held in her hand chimed again, and Joss cast apprehensive glances up and down the hallway.

She was trying to hide it, but to Fusco, she looked scared. He had only heard the rumors floating around about what had really happened that day in the precinct. As crazy as they were, he was starting to believe them with the way Joss was behaving. “Is that him?” he asked, gesturing towards her phone, “Tell him the next time I see him, he’s _dead_.”

“I need you to stay out of this, Fusco, please. I’m begging you…” When her phone began to ring, she rocked her head back in frustration. Instead of explaining everything to Fusco herself, she put the call on speaker and brought the device close to her face, “Yeah?”

_“Hey, Joss.”_

Fusco’s alarm-widened eyes narrowed in disbelief as he listened. Elias’ mockingly sweet tone confirmed his suspicions, and his choice of greeting paired with the timing of his call left little doubt in Lionel’s mind that Elias had already heard everything.  

Joss lowered her head as she silently struggled to hold on to what little control she had left. “Hey,” she responded.

_“I thought I’d drop by and pick you up for dinner tonight.”_

She peeked up at Lionel thru a curtain of thick hair, gauging his reaction to Elias’ words.

_“I look forward to starting over again from where we left off back in June. Are you at home?”_

 “Yeah…” Joss said, speaking into the phone as she looked at Lionel, her eyes swimming with tears.

Lionel pressed his lips together tightly as outrage reddened his features.

“I’m at home.” 

#

 

**July 2014**

They were late. Of course they were.

Peter Yogorov switched the viola case he held from one hand to the other as he stood near the entrance of the pier. Although the sun had long since gone down, the air remained so heavy and stifling, that fog had begun to accumulate close to the ground, increasing in thickness as he watched. He squirmed, rolling his shoulders in an alternating motion, trying to dislodge his shirt from where it stuck to his skin in random sweaty patches. When that didn’t help, he looked down to carefully pull the fabric away, but his attention was soon redirected when he heard tires rolling over gravel in the parking lot.

Bright beams of light cut through the darkness and flashed into his eyes as they swung towards him, and then…nothing. He tried in vain to peer through the fog and into the shadows of the car’s interior. Uncertainty mounted within him as the car just sat idling for a few moments with him standing there, out in the open like easy prey. Of little use to anyone now, perhaps they’d changed their minds and had decided to put him out of his misery after all. It wasn’t like Elias, the very man who’d murdered Peter’s father and uncle, had done any of this out of the kindness of his heart. Lord knows the man benefited from everything that had happened in ways that made him blush to think of, and now, with power nearly absolute, there was still the possibility that the don could go back on his word just for the hell of it. But, if there was anyone he thought he could count on to sway an outcome in his favor, it had to be the woman now known throughout the city’s underworld as the don’s wife, the one person who’d been a glimmer of light during what had arguably been the worst two years of his life. And so, Peter shifted his weight on his feet, and he remained patient.

Sameen Shaw, as usual, had opted for a little black dress that complimented her trim figure, accessorizing with matching heels and her ultra-tiny LC9 strapped tightly to her lower thigh. As Joss stepped out of the vehicle and tucked the leather portfolio she’d brought with her beneath her arm to walk with Shaw, she did not miss the ex-ISA agent’s super-smug grin as they made their way towards the head of the now defunct Russian mafia.

Peter slowly released the breath he’d been holding onto, and stood a bit more at ease as he looked on. Approaching in the aura of the car’s headlights, their silhouettes grew taller as they drifted closer, like angels through the mist. When their features became visible to him, Peter could see that Sameen was wearing her long chestnut-colored hair in big bouncy waves that flattered her face. Peter loved the style on her, but she’d always insisted on a no-frills ponytail and absolutely no makeup at all whenever she’d come to visit, probably just to prove to him how special he wasn’t. He couldn’t deny that she’d become a favorite habit of his that he couldn’t quite kick, but in all honesty, he was probably looking for something she wasn’t emotionally equipped to give. Joss was looking as regal as ever, in a white fur shrug over a long blue gown that showed off a whole lot of leg.  Peter had no idea how women walked on those ridiculous heels, but for whatever form of _koldovstvo_ these two dabbled in to pull it off so effortlessly, he would hope for the hearts and souls of every man alive that they were paid in full with the devil.

Joss nodded curtly, “Peter.”

“Ladies!” he exclaimed with a big dopey grin on his handsome face, “You didn’t have to get all dolled up for me, but I do appreciate the gesture,” he turned to Shaw, “This is for you,” Peter said, shoving the broad side of the viola case into her torso.

Shaw tilted her head at him in exasperation, “Don’t be such a sore loser, _Pete_.”  

“Well, I’d figured Joss here would’ve kicked Elias’ ass to the curb by now--”

Shaw didn’t wait for Peter to finish his thought before turning abruptly on her spiked heel and heading back towards the car.

“You aren’t even going to say goodbye?!” he called after her.

Shaw flashed a peace sign over her head, without bothering a single glance behind her.

Joss shook her head, “I’m not even gonna ask…”

Peter laughed and coyly scratched at his beard, “I really do appreciate this. I can’t even begin to tell you how much.”

Joss extended her palm to Peter, but instead of the expected handshake, he bowed his head and kissed the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry this took so long, but we needed to wait until after the HR mess blew over,” she explained.

“No, I get it. And thank you for keeping Laszlo safe in the meanwhile,” he said to her with a dazzling smile.

“Joss!”

She lifted her head towards the moored ferry to see her former trainee Mike Laskey along with a pretty girl Joss assumed to be his wife, waving energetically at her, with huge grins on their young, shiny faces. Joss laughed softly as she blinked back happy tears and returned the salutation. She’d almost lost another one that day, when Terney had ambushed them. This miracle, a second chance for a young, wayward son to find his way back home would not have happened if she hadn’t acted as swiftly as she did. Raymond, the coward that he was, had come so close to ending this young life. Rather than trying to kill Joss, the man who’d once been her trusted mentor had wanted to break her spirit into pieces by taking out her allies one by one. In the end, she was certain that he had realized the mistake he’d made in foolishly underestimating her, and focusing instead on her male associates. She could see it even, there in his wide, terror-stricken eyes…right before she’d blown him away.

Joss returned her attention back to Peter, “Cash, IDs, passports. It’s all there,” she said as she handed him the portfolio, “I'd suggest you and your boys stay out of the city for a good long while.”

Peter took the portfolio, but his brow creased as he looked at her, “What about you?”

“What _about_ me?” she asked, genuinely perplexed by his question.

“You're too close to see it,” he stated thoughtfully, “But I don't envy your position one bit. I know men like him. System’s full of’em.”

Joss glanced downward as she moved away from Peter, her heels lightly scraping the concrete as she did so. “Not like him,” she said as she stepped to stand beside him, gazing outward.

“When things aren’t going so well,” he said, stooping slightly to peer at her, “When he snaps, who do you think he'll turn on first?”

For an instant, just a tiny one, his words had gotten her, and she found her breath trapped in her throat. She fought the tightness in her chest as a calming breeze engulfed her, and filled her lungs, allowing her to truly appreciate the beauty of such a perfect night. Joss mustered an effortless smile, “Thanks for your concern, Peter, but I can handle Elias.”

Her dark, raven tresses, bone straight and glossy until the very ends where they curled into tendrils that reached just below her waist, blew in the hot, dragon’s breath wind, and Peter noted that there was not one drop of perspiration on her. He momentarily followed her gaze out across the inky water towards the full, glowing moon, and as he watched her, he wondered what it was she saw out there. To Peter, it was as if she was looking deep into the abyss, allowing it to take her even farther away from whom she had once been. There was so much more he wanted to say, but he conceded that it simply wasn’t his place. Her marriage, perplexing as it may have been to most, was no one’s business but her own. Laszlo called out to him as a few of the others onboard gathered at the entrance of the vessel and stared anxiously, awaiting his return.

“Hope you're right. And, hey,” he said, getting her full attention by gently tapping her elbow with the portfolio, “Don’t forget, you have friends amongst the _Bratva_.”

 

Watching from her black sedan parked just across from the pier, Patti D’Agostino felt the blood continue drain from her extremities. She began to feel woozy from emotionally-induced shock when she saw Joss and Peter schmoozing, and exchanging those insufferable shit-eating grins. Patti sat there, gripping her steering wheel so tightly, that her nails nearly cut grooves into the leather cover, and her trembling knuckles began to turn white. _Fuming_ , Patti turned the ignition, and peeled off, heading back towards Brighton Beach for a _long_ overdue conversation.


End file.
